


Stick to the Path

by mcschnuggles



Series: Schnugg's Regressuary 2021 [9]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, CGRE - Caregiver/Age Regressor, Canon-Typical Violence, Caregiver!Martin, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Regressing!Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcschnuggles/pseuds/mcschnuggles
Summary: Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go.
Series: Schnugg's Regressuary 2021 [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2138382
Kudos: 24
Collections: Regressuary, Regressuary 2021





	Stick to the Path

_Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother’s house we go._

Jon peeks under the cloth, checking to make sure everything in his basket is still safe and secure. Gran would rather send him back home and go hungry than lower herself to eating crushed bread or bruised apples.

He doesn’t visit his grandmother often, but he feels obligated to at least check on her once every month or so. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if she didn’t live in the middle of nowhere.

Deep into the heart of the woods, far away from the worn paths of travelers, her house sits tucked away in the shadows of the forest. As one could probably guess, it’s not the safest path to travel.

Still, Jon’s never come across a threat before. The forest is oddly quiet, like all the creatures hiding within don’t want to make a sound, and Jon chooses to find that comforting instead of foreboding. But Jon knows how the saying goes.

The wolf only has to be lucky enough to find him once.

But that’s why he has… insurance, let’s say. A dagger hidden among the food. He’s practiced enough to wield it with ease, so anything that gets too close will have to pay.

Jon feels eyes on him before he takes a step inside the forest. Immediately he wants to laugh, because how could anyone be watching him in the forest? He’s walked through these woods for years, and he’s yet to encounter a single other person. The most that would be watching him would be the fauna.

The forest, while daunting at first, is nothing Jon hasn’t experienced before. The paths are the familiar, straight roads he’s walked every time he travels through, and muscle memory quickly takes over.

Honestly, the quiet only pushes him further into his own head, making the scenery fly by. It’s a straight shot until the signpost, where he has to take a right. There he goes off onto the less trodden path, but he has no concerns.

“Hello, little one.”

Jon jumps at the sudden voice, the explosion of noise that hadn’t been there a few moments ago. He spins, one hand poised to handle the knife in his basket. He’s half-expecting a figure to be standing right over him, but the sight that greets him is almost worse.

It’s like the foliage above moves, just enough to cast a faint ray of light over the speaker.

He’s tall, dressed far too immaculately to be in the woods. He only has two eyes, but as the dark shifts around him, Jon could swear there are more blinking in and out of existence.

Jon swallows back his mounting fear. He knows if he goes too far in his own head, if he lets himself get swept up in his own torrent of emotions, he’ll regress and then he’ll be truly defenseless against the potential threat standing in front of him.

However, he won’t stay silent. After all, his grandmother raised him to be polite. “Hello.”

The man tilts his head, his face slinking into a self-satisfied grin. “Very good manners, Jon.”

Jon’s blood runs cold, his hands going tight around the handle of his basket. How does this stranger know his name?

But he knows how his grandmother is, and she won’t tolerate him being rude. “Are you a friend of Gran’s?”

“You could say that.”

Jon wonders what this man is. Fae? A shifter? He wracks his brains for all the stories Gran told him, the thinly veiled threats to try and get him to behave, for something that matches this strange man’s description.

“Can I have your name?” Jon tries. Fae don’t like that question, he remembers that much.

The man’s lips turn up in what should be a smile. He even squinches his eyes and shows his teeth, but those aspects just make it look less genuine. “How quaint. By all means, please don’t waste your supply of iron on me.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “But you may certainly _know_ my name, little traveler. You can call me Elias.”

“Nice to meet you, sir.” How does he respond to someone who already knows his name? To repeat his name feels like making it official, turning a (correct) assumption into a confirmed fact. For whatever reason, Jon’s instincts warn him not to do that.

“Always a pleasure, Jon.”

Always? But this is the first time they’ve ever met. Jon would remember meeting someone so peculiar.

He has to leave. Whatever this man is, he means harm, and Jon refuses to stick around and let himself be toyed with any longer. Even if Gran will be upset with him, he’s going to have to cut this conversation short.

“Thank you for the chat, sir,” Jon mutters, taking a small step back.

“Why don’t you stay?” Elias indicates the meadow at his feet with slow, stilted motions. It reminds Jon of those devices controlled by the turning of a crank. “I’m sure your grandmother would love a bouquet of flowers.”

Jon dares a glance away from Elias to better look upon the meadow. The flowers are bright and beautiful, and while he would love to take a closer look, all he can see when looking at them is a glowing beacon for insects to die on, or a piece of cheese drawing a mouse in before its back is broken.

“Gran doesn’t like flowers,” Jon blurts out. “She says they’re messy and not worth the trouble.”

He made a mistake in saying that. That much is clear from the second the words are out of his mouth.

Elias’s face splits into a full grin, teeth and all. “Right you are. Don’t know how that slipped under my notice.”

The imaginary stares against his back intensify, biting into the back of his head. Suddenly the air feels heavy, constricting around him in loops and coils. His legs quiver, desperate for the chance to break into a full sprint, and Jon has no choice but to give that to them.

“Be mindful of your step, little regressor,” Elias says. He does not raise his voice, but Jon hears him with perfect clarity no matter how much distance he puts between them. “You may not like what you find underfoot.”

Jon doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what he’d say.

Instead, he keeps walking, waiting for the moment that he stops feeling Elias’s eyes boring into him, but that moment never comes. Even as he turns to see Elias long out of sight, the light breaking through the trees no longer visible even in the distance, it’s almost as if Elias is watching his every step.

Jon’s stomach twists painfully. When had he started feeling small?

He’s trying not to think about the specifics of his conversation with Elias— _how_ did he know Jon regresses?—but he wonders if forcing him into a smaller headspace was exactly what the mysterious man had planned.

Jon knows the consequences of regressing unattended. He starts seeing figures in the shadows, starts imagining eyes are watching his every step. He’ll only have so long before he works himself right up into a panic attack, and it’ll only get worse from there.

He could run off the path in the state of panic. No one is supposed to deviate from the path—bad things happen to children that do. Maybe that’s why Mr. Elias wanted him to feel small, so he’d end up running right into some sort of big trap.

Jon takes another cursory glance around, both hoping and dreading the prospect of catching something’s eye in the foliage. But no, the quiet forest says nothing, as it always does, and stands as still as ever.

Jon shakes his head, trying to get a hold of himself. If he’s going to get worked up over nothing, he should at least do something with that energy and walk a little faster. That’s probably what his Gran would tell him, and right now, he’s rather inclined to listen.

So he walks faster. Too slow to be a run, too fast to look like anything other than running away. It only feels like a bigger target on his back.

Jon spins on his heel, looking around again, to find the same amount of stillness and nothing that was there last time.

The forest is tranquil, quiet. It feels like nothing is there because _nothing is there_.

So then why does it feel like something’s there?

It’s a weak, pitiable thought, but he wishes he’d had someone here with him. Logically, if there’s a beast in the woods, another person wouldn’t be able to do anything to protect him, but just having someone here to hold his hand would help quell his fear.

But there is no other person, and there are no creature comforts.

There is only the forest, and there is only Jon.

Jon takes a shallow breath, fighting back the tears building in his eyes. If he doesn’t find some way to comfort himself soon, he won’t find it in himself to keep moving. On a good day, that’s inefficient, but something is nudging at the back of his mind, telling him not to slow or stop no matter what, that the consequences this time are much more dire than Gran scolding him for taking too long.

So he considers his dummy. He’s not supposed to, but he does. The hood of his cloak will be able to conceal his face, even if it does limit his visibility a tad. He just has to believe that everything he’s worrying about is all in his head.

He takes the dummy from the basket and holds it in his fingers. It has to be in a special pouch, so Gran won’t have to look at it. He can only imagine how furious she’d be if she saw him with such an item, especially out here by himself.

But his self-consciousness wins out before he can indulge, and he ends up putting it right back where he’d left it. It’s not like he needs it. He’s a big boy, after all. He’ll just have to tough it out.

A soft noise of disappointment echoes from behind him.

Jon whirls to find Mr. Elias standing in the clearing, holding his arms the same stiff way. It’s like he hasn’t moved at all. Maybe he hasn’t. Flower petals stick to his shoes, already starting to wither and brown.

“Jon,” Elias says. “I was hoping you’d make this easier for both of us.”

Jon doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t stick around long enough to find out.

He turns in the opposite direction and breaks into a dead sprint. Something shifts behind him. A trick of the light, a change in the air, maybe. Jon won’t let himself look back.

The path to Gran’s is a straight shot, as long as he can outrun whatever is behind him, he should be able to get there no problem. So then why does it feel like he’s making no progress at all?

His legs are moving, the scenery is flying by, but it doesn’t feel like he’s getting anywhere. Tears of frustration build in his eyes. He doesn’t wanna be stuck running forever!

Something roars beside him, so loud and severe that Jon screams, diverting right into the forest. Are there two things following him now? One? A hundred? He isn’t sure. The snarling is everywhere now. In the distance, right in his ear, right in front of his face. How much longer until he’s surrounded? Maybe it’s already too late.

Jon tears through the forest, his feet catching every vine and root in his path. It’s the only sound in the forest, making it a glowing beacon in the endless silence. The eyes watching him only intensify, with dozens of sleeping eyes opening to see the source of the sound.

There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere he can go to get out from under the relentless eyes. Watching, watching, always watching. He wants to scream at them, or maybe throw something at one of them. Gran always goes on about how rude it is to stare.

He fumbles for the knife in his basket, desperately groping at the hilt. He doesn’t want to fight, doesn’t want it to come to that, but if that’s what he needs to do to survive, it’s not like he has any other choice.

Jon doesn’t get very far. The deeper parts of the woods are unfamiliar territory, causing him to misstep, fumble, and backtrack. He can’t go more than ten steps without nearly colliding with a tree, but that isn’t what seals his fate.

He trips. Or something grabs his ankle. It’s hard to know for sure, but the end result is the same, and Jon hits the forest floor with a painful thud.

Fresh tears sting his eyes, but he doesn’t give himself time to whimper about it. Everything hurts, he’s lost, and he’s terrified, but that doesn’t change that he’s still in danger. He rolls onto his back, knife extended.

It finds flesh, but not human flesh.

The growling, snarling, furious beast lets out a guttural sound, the blood blossoming and spilling over Jon’s hands. It feels warm, too warm, but at the same time, chills Jon to his core.

The monster is tall, or Jon thinks it is. He doesn’t exactly have a high bar for what he considers “tall.” If something’s bigger than him, it’s tall. It’s got the same wilting flower petals stuck into its fur. Jon wonders, is this Elias’s pet, or just Elias himself?

The wolf’s eyes have gone hazy. Jon supposes he hit something vital or else he would’ve had his throat torn out by now.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jon says, though he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t understand anything anymore, especially why the big scary wolf wanted to hurt him to begin with.

The wolf snaps, causing Jon to cry out and flinch back, but the knife remains buried in its chest. It keeps struggling, though, making it clear that the beast will only stop fighting when it doesn’t have the strength to do so.

Jon has no choice but to watch it die.

He isn’t sure how long the two of them sit there, crying their respective woes, but it feels like an eternity before the wolf’s voice gets softer, closing out as a final dying whimper.

Jon cries more than once, calls for his Gran at least twice. It’s no use, he knows. No one can hear him, and even if they could, they wouldn’t go out of their way for him. It’s dangerous to be off the path.

Jon crawls out from under the wolf, but he quickly finds his legs won’t allow him to stand. It would be so easy, to just stand up and walk home, but for some reason, such action is beyond his body’s capability. Has he really slipped so little that he can’t even walk?

Jon doesn’t remember the forest being so cold. He can barely feel his fingers. Then again, that might just be him dissociating. 

“Hello? Hello?”

Next thing he knows, there are two strong hands on his shoulders, shaking him out of his stupor.

His eyes immediately search out the beast that attacked him. Is it a shapeshifter?

“Don’t look, darling. Look at me, okay?” The man smiles, trying to be soothing when it’s clear that panic is swallowing him whole.

The man has an axe strapped to his back. A woodcutter, most likely.

Jon becomes aware of his body, of the trembling in his hands, the ice in his veins… the blood on his hands.

“H-hello.”

The man blinks. “Er, yes. Hello.”

“’m lost,” Jon says simply. “Can you help me?”

“Of course. Let’s get you away from this… thing, yeah?”

“Can I hold your hand?” A foolish request, he’s aware, especially since he’s putting his faith in a complete stranger, but he has to hope the man before him doesn’t mean any harm. He doesn’t have the capability to look after himself.

The man hesitates, and Jon remembers how bloody his hands are. Maybe if he cleaned them off…

“No, darling, please don’t do that!” The man takes his hands, stopping him before he can wipe them off on his cloak. Jon isn’t sure why it matters. Both are red, so it’s not like it’d leave a stain.

Jon frowns, remembering his discarded basket. It flew out of his hands when he tripped, but miraculously it’s close enough for him to pick up. The sight inside, however, makes his lower lip tremble. “Gran will be upset I was late. ‘n the apples are all bloody.”

“I think they can wash out. Let’s just focus on getting out for now, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jon likes the sound of that. Even if Gran is going to be mad at him, he still wants to see her, just to give her a hug. She won’t snuggle him and tell him everything is going to be okay, but that’s alright. He doesn’t expect her to.

“My name’s Martin, by the way.”

“Jon.” Jon tamps down the urge to stick his thumb in his mouth, since his hands are still icky. He’s never been good around strangers, especially when he’s tired.

“Well, Jon, let’s get you back to your Gran, alright?” Martin gives his hand a little squeeze before he starts walking, Jon just half a step behind him.

Jon takes his hand and holds it tight, both shocked and relieved to find the path once again making sense. Instead of being hopelessly lost in the brush, the path is only a few short steps away, and instead of an endless walkway, it’s a straight shot.

Jon wonders if Martin is just magic like that, or if it was Jon’s stupid baby brain getting everything confused.

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He’s on his way home now, and although the weight of the watching eyes remains heavy on his shoulders, he knows they can’t touch him anymore.

Here with Martin, he’s safe.

**Author's Note:**

> mcschnuggles.tumblr.com


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